Bump in the night
by Courkytron
Summary: Set post Blind Banker, pre Tgg. John didn't know what to expect when he moved in with Sherlock. Adventures? Yes. life threatening situations? probably. Him being a Vampire? Not so much. Rated M for later chapters... ;
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock and John burst through their flats door, unable to hold their excitement in any longer. John shut the door behind him and joined Sherlock in his adrenalin rush of completing their latest and most bizarre case. After standing around the front of their flat for a while, still slightly giggling; John made his to his armchair, thinking how ridiculous his day had been.

Four hours ago he and Sherlock had been running around all of London looking for a crazed maniac, who Sherlock swore was behind all of the murders; only to turn up at his so called 'secret base' and find him dead. The murderer had eluded the police for 3 weeks, managing to make people disappear off the streets and turn up 3 days later, with a completely different face. When Sherlock was brought in on the case he was able to deduce in less than a minute that the killer was a failing plastic surgeon and after losing his job for not being good enough at it, resorted to practicing on the innocence of London. How Sherlock got that all just from looking at the victims, John will never know.

Sherlock was utterly lost for all of 47 seconds, which is a new record for him John supposed, staring from the dead body to the surgical tools and table in the room. The answer finally hit him when he realized that this was indeed the murderer they were looking for, but simply someone else had gotten to him first. He had looked around the madman's base, searching through the medical tools for some sort of clue; when he realized, by the dust patterns on the floor he explained to John later on, that the killer of the killer, was still in there. Just then, a large man about 7ft 2in, stepped out from behind the corner and charged. John and Sherlock had never run faster. John vaguely wondered why today of all days he had left his gun back at the flat.

Sherlock led the way, taking turns through alley ways that John hadn't even seen, running at an almost in-human speed. No one seemed to notice this large man chase us around lower London at night. If there was someone who caught a glimpse of this, they did absolutely nothing to help them. Sherlock kept taking random paths, climbing over fences, even resorting to climbing through an open window and exiting out through the door. No matter what strange way they went, the man behind them kept up.

Just when they were finally getting some distance on the guy, John tripped on some beams left in the alleyway, fell hard to the ground and got the wind knocked out of him. Sherlock turned hearing the crash behind him and saw that John had fallen. He turned around as fast could go, helped John up and starting pulling him into a run again. John peered behind him to see that the giant man was a little less then 15ft behind them now. 'Bullocks' John thought to himself, his leg began to ache with pain as he attempted to keep up with Sherlock's fast pace. Just when John thought he couldn't run anymore, he saw Lestrade and his team we're waiting for them at the end of the long alley. When they had run by, the police tranquillized the man and shoved him inside the nearest police van. John laughed again, remembering how Sherlock demanded that Lestrade tell him how they knew where he was. Also something along the lines of Lestrade mentioning Mycroft's assisting.

Our statements were taken right there in the alley way where the man had been caught, the police force knew by now that Sherlock wouldn't actually show up to Scotland yard to give an 'official' one. Sherlock claimed that it was a waist of his good time. With that done the police left, Sherlock and John decided to walk back to the flat, stopping by a small Chinese restaurant on their way home.

The buzz of the case was finally wearing off John, as he relaxed into his chair, sipping on his newly made tea. Sherlock had lain down on his favorite couch, wearing in his pajamas covered by his silk robe. He had already had a frown upon his face, pondering over the facts; which was something John wouldn't dare to ask about. And yet, as John always does, John did.

"Sherlock, we just completed a case, what are you on about already?", John asked as he put his tea down on the only free space the table currently had.

Sherlock's eyelids popped open as he went to look at John, "Can't you see John, there are still so many unanswered questions!", Sherlock exclaimed. "Why did that man kill OUR murderer, who was he and what was he doing there…".

John sighed. "You couldn't tell by the coloring of his coat or maybe he had some bread crumbs on his left shoulder", he joked, Sherlock simply stared back at John his expression slowly turning into a glare.

"I could tell by his shaved head that he worked for someone else, probably military considering the tattoo on the back of his neck. By the fact that he had dust all the way up to his knees implies either he lived in very poor conditions or that he was hiding in that house for a long period of time and by the cost of his suit, I'm assuming the latter. By the amount of animal hair around his legs I would say 2 dogs, he served in the war but not recently because there's not much left of his tan. He is married, 5 year+ un-happily, so why on earth John, would this man kill the murderer? Was it orders for from his higher ups? Or was it his own personal Vendetta." Sherlock took a deep breath after spewing out of his facts, "And we'll never know because the police dragged him off, never to be seen again". He sighed dramatically and collapsed back onto his couch, cursing Mycroft under his breath.

John looked at Sherlock, flabbergasted. 'He just can never be happy unless he completely solves the case huh', he sighed mentally to himself. 'Well this is the first time that Sherlock hadn't known every single detail about a case since… I've known him'. John stretched in his tired limbs and yawned. He hadn't run around London much since the Blind Banker case and was feeling s bit more than sore, even though the new case was exciting, a man needed his sleep

"Ok Sherlock stay up all night if it makes you feel better, but I'm off to bed", John stood from his armchair, stretched once more and headed to the sink to put his now emptied tea cup inside it.

"Still working for that surgery center? I have plenty of money to cover some of your share John." Sherlock stated without moving on inch.

"That not what it's about Sherlock", John replied, "This is half my flat and I should be able to pay for it."

Sherlock sighed, "Fine, have a job then, how dull".

John too tired to argue with the genius anymore, stomped loudly off to bed. "g'night Sherlock", he grumbled closing his door behind him.

Sherlock waited another 30 minutes before he heard the faint sound of John's snoring from upstairs. Finally, Sherlock thought to himself as he jumped from the couch. He had quickly but quietly returned to his room and re-dressed himself in a 3 piece suit. Sherlock stalked out of his room as fast he went in and was ready for the night to begin. He was just about to run out the door when he heard a faint whimper from the room upstairs.

Faster than lightning Sherlock was outside of John's room, listening intently to the closed door. For a second he thought he had just imagined it when the sound came again not a second later. Sherlock decided to slowly open the door to check on his flatmate. The door slid open to reveal John curled into a ball on his bed, looking like he had started a cold sweat. Sherlock walked over to his sleeping friend and hovered over him for a second.

Sherlock considered waking John to end the nightmare when his hunger set it. 'So close…' Sherlock thought to himself, he leaned over john and took in his scent. He bent down and ran a finger slowly over John's exposed neck. John mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, turning into Sherlock's gentle touch. He felt John's heart beat relax underneath his fingertips. Sherlock's fangs slid down slowly from his mouth.

'Just one bite', the moment the thought had crossed Sherlock's mind, he expelled himself from John's room, leaving his door open in the rush. He grabbed his coat and was out the flat faster than a regular person could see. Why, because Sherlock Holmes was one of the last vampires in existence.


	2. Chapter 2

Cold air surrounded Sherlock as he paced quickly through the streets of London. So many people were around him, walking calmly, freely like they didn't have a care in the world. Not knowing that a starving vampire was walking the streets with them that night. Sherlock had been ignoring his hunger for more than a week now, too busy working one case to the next and the time in between spent laughing with John.

John, Sherlock's thought bubbled into his head. How close he had come to hurting his dear friend this night. Sherlock was nearly sick with the thought. He hadn't had the prospects of a good friend in his very long life and he as sure as hell wasn't going to mess it up with his… condition.

The case was nagging at the back of his mind, his thirst for blood slowly boiling away his calm demeanor; so why not take them out at the same time, two birds with one stone as they say. Stalking past the delicious smells of the young, Sherlock made his way to the police station. He had to re-introduce himself to his 'friend' from earlier that day. He had gotten too close to hurting his John. Sherlock froze. His John? He shook the thought from his mind, continuing at a now quickened pace to the station.

Sneaking into Scotland was always one of Sherlock's favorite pastimes, when Lestrade withheld information from him or when he simply needed to get a small snack. Blending in with the shadows, Sherlock made his way to the back where the prisoners were held while awaiting their trial. When you see a flicker in the darkness or see something move in the corner of your eyes, it wouldn't be too far of a leap to suspect a vampire to be near. Of course most of the dimwits working at the Yard nowadays stopped believing in the supernatural many decades ago, much to Sherlock's advantage.

He crept past each cell until he found the one that held his prize. Cecil Venitzo, the name card read outside his prison. Sherlock chuckled, let the fun begin. With that, Sherlock vanished with a poof of dark swirling mist behind him. The man in question was sitting in a darkened room, waiting for sleep to take over. He had lost track of time, forgetting how long he had been sitting in is small cell. Not too long ago, his cellmate had been released. Who knows, if this didn't happen it could have saved the man from what was about to come.

The man had a lingering feeling that he was being watched, but wrote it off as security camera's that were bothering him. He sat up from his sleeping bench to peer at the camera's or to see if a policemen had been patrolling. The first thing that he noticed, was that the camera's were all facing away from his cell and then he heard steps. He got up to look through the cold iron bar's of his cell. Not the step of an officer, for Cecil saw that the doors at both ends of the hallway were closed with no one in sight. Cecil felt a small twinge of panic, wondering what it could be. He thought this could be someone else in the cells next to him, pacing around when the steps grew louder. The man quickly looked around him to see what was there, to find… nothing.

"Hello Cecil", Sherlock whispered through the other side of the bars. Cecil whipped his head around to see the man, caught off guard by how close he was. He stumbled backwards into his cell, crashing to the ground as he did so.

"Now really, what is there to be afraid of?", Sherlock grinned evilly, "what could I possibly do on the other side of these bars, come on."

"I-its you", Cecil stammered out, realizing how weak he sounded he straightened up. "What do you want?", He asked more confidently, internally laughing at how the smaller man had managed to scare him. Sherlock's eyes glinted and an unknown fear coursed through him again. Cecil had no idea why this man made him so afraid; he was the one chasing him around London not several hours before.

"What do I want?", Sherlock mimicked, "don't be so dull, you know what I want, Why did you kill that man? Who are you working for?". Sherlock's gaze bore down unto the man, as if he were looking at the very depths of his soul.

It was Cecil's turn to chuckle, "I don't know, but from what I've heard of you, why don't you deduce if for me?", he finally stood up and sneered at Sherlock through his bars, "Because you're as sure as hell not getting anything from me".

Sherlock sighed and looked back up at the man, "Just as boring as the rest of them, why can't criminals be more interesting these days".

"wha-" was all that came out of Cecil's mouth before Sherlock disappeared in a thin poof of black smoke. The same smoke cracked into appearance inside his cell, and Sherlock walked out. Cecil fell back to the ground with a thud.

"Please don't waste anymore of my time, I have a flatmate I must rather get back to", Sherlock said boredly as if nothing had changed. Cecil began to crawl backwards, inching slowly to the back of his cell.

"Wha- What are you?", Cecil shouted as he hit the wall of his cell. Panic had taken over his mind while a sweat started on his forehead, he had never been so afraid in his life.

"Let me ask you again", Sherlock stated as he began to close in on the man, "With your half witted excuse for a brain, tell, me, who, you, are, working, for." Sherlock pronounced each of his syllables slowly as his he were speaking to a five year old.

"N—NO!", Cecil said, beginning to shake. He had lost all control of his body, giving away to the fear that plagued him. But he refused to tell the man anything about his boss.

"DULL!", Sherlock exclaimed crouching just a inch away from Cecil now, "The lot of you, never a single one actually ever thinks." Cecil took his chance. He lunged at the crouched man trying to punch him. Sherlock suddenly vanished out of existence only to reappear behind the man, pinning him to the cold, hard floor.

"Now surely you thought that wouldn't work right?", Sherlock sighed again using almost no strength to pin the man beneath him. "Lets get this over with, I'm getting impossibly bored with you, I thought that the man that chased us across London would be slightly entertaining", Sherlock pouted, "but I suppose not". With that said, Sherlock's eyes dilated and fangs grew from his mouth. His skin turned a slightly paler shade then it already was.

Cecil froze beneath him. Fear shook him to the very fibers of his being, "WAIT!", he cried out, "wait, ill tell you everything, everything you want to know, just don't kill me", Cecil begged. Sherlock lifted off of him slightly, while still holding the other man in a lock.

"Who?", Sherlock asked again, fangs still jutting from his mouth.

"M… Moriarty", Cecil whimpered in defeat.

The pieces in the puzzle finally began to fit together in Sherlock's head. He had heard of Moriarty once before in the Study in Pink as John liked to call it and suspected some involvement in the Blind Banker case. This man was obviously a hired gunman, Sherlock deduced once he had gotten a closer look at him, hired to put the serial killer down for being to loud. Now all that's left is to find this Moriarty character. Sherlock saw that the man beneath him would have no more information.

"Thank you, Cecil", Sherlock grinned before lowering himself to the man once more. "By the way, I suggest buying soap if you ever leave prison, your smell if very off-putting", Sherlock informed him before biting down on the man's neck. Cecil tried to cry out in pain, but he found that he had no voice left in him. He tried to squirm out from under Sherlock, but his muscles were frozen. He was left there limp for Sherlock to feed upon.

Sherlock's head resurfaced after a good 30 seconds of drinking. Too bitter Sherlock thought to himself, wiping the blood from his mouth. Cecil had passed out on the cold floor and wasn't worth moving in Sherlock's opinion. Sherlock spit on his finger and held it to the bite wound. The mark began to fade away and soon as Sherlock touched it, soon disappearing all together. He should have a fun time trying to explain this, Sherlock chuckled to himself, deciding that this man was not worthy of a memory wipe either.

Sherlock stood, turned and exited the way he came. He whipped out his phone sending a text.

**You can turn the cameras back now**

**-SH**

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket, not bothering waiting for a reply. After all, he had a doctor to get back to.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Wow thanks so much for the alerts and the comments! I was nervous about posting this story at first, but I'm glad you all like it! _

_On to chapter 3_

_DISCAMLER: Sherlock belongs to bbc not me!_

When Sherlock returned to his flat later that night, John was still fast asleep. Sherlock laid his coat upon the couch and was about to relax, when he heard yet another whimper come from upstairs. Sherlock debated whether or not to go see John, but his internal debate ended when yet another small cry sounded from him. In a slow, human speed, he crept upstairs being careful not to wake John. Sherlock re-entered the room which he fled from not 3 hours ago and approached the troubled figure shifting uncomfortably in his sleep.

Sherlock kneeled beside John's bed, watching his eye lids flutter in his sleep. With Sherlock's hunger now sated, he was able to be close to John without feeling the need to bite into his neck and drain him dry. Instead he stroked it, almost possessively. Sherlock did consider waking his friend, although he doubted he wanted to be woken up at 3am in the morning with work to go to that day. Sherlock sighed, there was nothing he could do for John while he slept. He was about to leave and return to his own room for the morning when John mumbled, "Sherlock". He had stopped kicking in his sleep, sighing, his breathe returned to normal

"Interesting", Sherlock said under his breath. He began to run his fingers along John's jaw, appreciating the strong structure. A small part of Sherlock's brain told him to take a quick bike, that John would never know; but the bigger part of Sherlock's brain said to enjoy the time he had, that it may never happen again where he could calm John in his sleep.

Sherlock started to stroke John's cheek, feeling the warmth emanating from his sleeping form. John turned unconsciously into the touch, moaning softly. Sherlock froze for a second; he didn't understand what he was doing, what he was feeling or why he was even in John's room. Just as he was about to pull away, John grabbed his arm hugging it tightly to himself. Sherlock could have just ripped his hand away from John, but that would have woken him; instead he shifted onto the mattress to accommodate for the weird angle his arm was being hugged at.

Staring at John's sleeping form, Sherlock began to think how much the doctor meant to him now. 'NO', Sherlock thought to himself, 'I was just calming him down was all, he was having a nightmare, that's all'. 'WHY DO I CARE', he shouted in his brain. He's never cared before, he didn't have time for that kind of luxury, so why now?

John started shaking around his arm, the nightmare returning. Instinctually Sherlock reached over with his free hand, pulling John up close to him. He held John tight, messaging his back, whispering kind words until John started to relax again. Sherlock grinned at this small achievement, continuing to rub John's Shoulder blade. 'Why indeed', he chuckled to himself.

Sherlock lost track of time, studying John's sleeping form, slowing coming to terms with his new found feelings. He had many flatmates over his long life, but he had never felt the way that he now feels with John. 'So… not platonic then', Sherlock smiled, not even knowing why. 'How… interesting'. Sherlock tried to think back to a time where he had felt this way, but couldn't recall a single one. 'so… John's the first then'. He made a new room in his mind palace and labeled it John, then began to re-examine all his interactions with the doctor, trying to figure out what made him special.

Sherlock was distracted by John's rhythmic breathing, slowing beginning not to care when it had started, or rather that he would simply figure it out later and not waste any time he had left. Just as the thought crossed his mind, John began to stir. Cursing his luck, Sherlock vanished in a swirling mist of black smoke.

John sat straight up, swearing he sensed someone else's presence. After looking around the room, John sighed and resigned himself to getting up and making himself some tea and toast. It wasn't until John and left the room that Sherlock poofed out of the closet.

'Having to resort to hiding in a closet, how childish..', Sherlock thought to himself, as he straitened his suit. 'My room is directly below Johns so if I jump … about 6 and 1/2 feet in space downward I should land on my bed.' Sherlock closed his eyes and the let black smoke engulfe him, making him reappear in his own room, 2 feet from the floor and 4 from the bed. He landed on his back with a loud thud, causing his lamp to fall to the floor as well.

"Sherlock what was that?", John called from the kitchen, "What did you break this time?". To this Sherlock grinned, 'well it's your fault for distracting me'.

"Not to worry John, it was just my lamp", Sherlock replied while getting up.

"Why did I hear two thuds then Sherlock?", Sherlock heard John sigh while saying this. Damn, he was getting more observant.

"If you must know, I fell out of bed", the great sleuth really couldn't think of another excuse, so he told John the near truth, he was aiming for it after all.

"You ok mate?", John said, holding back a laugh. Sherlock heard John's footsteps approaching his room, faster than lightning Sherlock undressed from his suit flinging the clothing somewhere across his desk. John was almost to the door when Sherlock had located his pajama's, slipping them on faster than necessary, almost ripping them. Just when John was at the door, Sherlock put on his blue silk rope and leaped for the bed.

John pushed open the door to see Sherlock on the floor with just his calves on the bed. He had his hands clasped together, in what John had come to call 'the thinking pose'.

"Yes John I'm fine, I doubt falling from my bed could cause any true harm", Sherlock said with a striate face. John almost broke out laughing at this.

"So.. what are you doing then?", John asked.

"Contemplating why I fell of course", Sherlock replied without a movement. It was half true, he was curious as to why John could confuse him enough to make his miscalculate the distance to his own bed.

"Of course, want a cuppa?", John inquired, not offering to make food for the man because he simply wouldn't eat it.

"Yes please", Sherlock said. He waited for John to leave before opening his eyes. He leapt to his feet and couldn't shake the smile from his face. 'This… this is new, this shall be interesting', He thought to himself happily, leaving his room to join John for breakfast.

_AN: I know the first three chapters were a bit short, but it just felt right to separate them. Not to worry the next couple of chapters will be a bit longer! Next chapter starts Tgg :) _


	4. Chapter 4

It turned out to be a rather quiet morning, John had thought when he left the flat to go drop off the mail. He was quickly convinced otherwise when he returned half an hour later, hearing gunshots being fired from their flat. Panicking, John climbed the stairs 2 at a time to go see if Sherlock was okay only to see that the man in question was still in his pajama's, sitting cozily in his armchair, shooting up their flat's wall.

"Sher- what ARE you doing", John yelled, covering his ears while he tried to approach Sherlock,

"BORED!" He replied while jumping of the chair. Sherlock raised the gun and fired off two more rounds into the smiley face on the wall before he allowed John to take the firearm away.

"Yea, and you take it out on the wall?" John asked, crossing the room to lock up his gun again. He knew Sherlock would just re-break into it to retrieve it later; John made a mental note to change where he hid the gun and the lock combination the next time his flatmate was out.

"The wall had it coming", Sherlock huffed, collapsing into the couch with a dramatic swoosh of his rope.

"How could you be bored already? We just solved a case yesterday!" John exclaimed as he headed toward the kitchen. He was already hungry again since all he had before he left was some toast. He opened the fridge expecting to see some experiment tucked away somewhere; what he wasn't expecting to see was an actual human head smack in the middle. It was right next to the risotto he was going for, but suddenly he lost his appetite,

"A head…. Sherlock", John said disbelievingly.

"Just tea for me thanks", Sherlock called from the other room.

John decided not to fight with him this afternoon, and headed towards his armchair. Sherlock tried not to inhale the beautiful scent of his friend when he sat down, basically blasting it around the room. Too late, he took a small sniff and was overwhelmed with the smell of tea and jumpers, the smell of John. Sherlock thought he had gotten enough of that scent last night to last him a lifetime, but he found himself wanting to crawl into John's lap and just revel in the smell of him.

He fought the urge violently and replied, "Well I see that you've written up the taxi driver case"

"yea?" John looked over to Sherlock, who had just reached over for the newspaper.

"A Study in Pink? Nice." He said while popping open the paper

"Well pink suitcase, pink lady, pink phone there was a lot of pink", John retorted quietly. He swallowed before he asked, "Did you like it?"

"Ummmmmmm no". He said while popping open the paper. He pretended to gaze at the words while ignored the consent urge to jump John when he wasn't expecting it. That's when it hit him. He was hungry again. 'No, I can't be already' the words drummed around uselessly in his head as his need grew larger and larger. 'I just fed… this can't be… John'. It was his scent, it was driving Sherlock mad. Ever since he had come to realize his feeling for John, his scent acted as well, a high. He needs more of it, all of it. Sherlock mind told him to start experimenting, how long could he be with John before he lost it, was it because it was John that it made Sherlock hungry or was John's scent special to everyone. Another part of him, one that he couldn't name, told him he had to get John of out the flat and fast

John looked taken aback, not realizing the sudden danger he was in, he continued with, "Why, I thought you'd be flattered?"

Sherlock decided that the current best way to get John out of the flat was too anger him and no better way to do that then by being an inconsiderate sod. He realized this would send probably send him to Sarah, but he wasn't too worried about that right this second. The last time he had analyzed John's relationship with her, he gave it about another week; he said this 5 days ago so again, so again he wasn't too worried.

"Flattered? 'Sherlock see's through everything and everyone in seconds, what's incredible is how spectacularly ignorant he is about something's", Sherlock fired off at John, choosing the only near negative thing he said about him. In fact, the blog post did flatter him, but he would never admit it to John.

"Now hang on a minute, I didn't mean it like th-", John tried to explain.

"Oh you meant spectacularly ignorant in a nice way. Look it doesn't matter to me whose prime minister or who's been sleeping with who-", Sherlock started to rant on and on hoping this would encourage John to leave.

"Or that the earth goes round the sun", John commented snidely. Apparently that didn't work Sherlock thought.

"Oh not that again, look its not important!" Sherlock sat up quickly and pointed to his head, "THIS I my hard drive and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful. Really useful, ordinary people fill their heads with useless things don't you see?" Sherlock asked getting annoyed.

John paused before say, "But it's the solar system!"

"HELL what does it matter! So we go around the sun, would it matter if we went round the moon or round and round the garden like a teddy bear! It wouldn't make any difference! ALL that matters to me is the work, without that my brain rots". His own words stung a bit because John had begun to matter to, but he couldn't think of that right now, Sherlock needed John out of the flat. He finished with, "why don't you put that in your blog, or better yet, stop inflicting your opinions on the world." For the finishing touch, Sherlock through the paper on the table and curled up in a ball on the couch facing away from John.

John stared of into the distance for awhile. Sherlock knew he had to write blog entrees for his therapist; he knew that it helped him calm down for the night so why-. Doesn't matter. John stood abruptly and headed for his coat. Sherlock didn't bother to ask him where he was going but John still said, "I need some air". He headed for the door and stomped loudly down the stairs.

Finally thought Sherlock; just as he was standing to get dressed he heard Mrs. Hudson approach the door. Noooo groaned Sherlock internally as she knocked and let herself in. She was saying something about bring them food, and then blabbering about the gunshots in her wall. He couldn't stand it anymore; the hunger was becoming stronger by the second. He moved to the window and watched John strut angrily away. Good he thought, at least he was safe now. He turned around to see Mrs. Hudson heading downstairs. He smirked, getting to the police station unnoticed will be a breeze.

Sherlock turned to go rush into some decent clothes when the explosion went off.

John woke the next morning with a crick in his neck. He groaned as he sat up from the sofa, rubbing his sore neck. Sarah entered from the hallway and looked at the man who was still waking up, steeling herself up for what she was about to do.

"Morning, did you sleep well?" She asked while approaching the couch he had slept on, sitting on the arm of it. Sarah grabbed the remote and turned it on to the morning news channel.

"yea, fine", John managed to say, still stretching.

Noticing his discomfort, she said, "Maybe next time I'll let you sleep at the bottom of my bed".

"So there's a next time…?" John said under his breath. After a moment of awkward silence Sarah asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Starving"

"Well then you better go make something yourself, cause I'm taking a shower", She said standing up, teasing him a bit; John huffed out a laugh as she went to the shower. Just then he heard something about Baker Street, so he returned his attentions to the tele. It said something about a massive explosion occurring; John didn't need to hear anymore. Explosion's and Sherlock rarely go together well and despite him being such a prat to him the other day, John couldn't help but worry.

'That sod better not have blown himself up before I got the chance to rough him up a bit', John thought throwing on his coat. "Sarah I'm sorry, I've got to go!" he called into the direction of the bathroom. Just as he was out the door, Sarah re-emerged from her room.

"John, where are you going?" She asked staring at the floor.

"I need to check on Sherlock there was an explosi-"John started to explain before Sarah cut him off.

"Sherlock again John, really?" Sarah looked up to find John eyes, only to see intense worry in them. She understood that John would never give that face for her. "Just… go John and I don't think… I don't think I want you to come back again", Sarah refused to start tearing up now.

John looked stunned. Where had this come from, "Sarah what- I just need to see if he's ok that's all". John tried to approach Sarah, but she took a step back.

"No, John it's not just this time. It's always going to be Sherlock first isn't it? I thought I would be fine with that but I can't. Not anymore John, I'm sorry", Sarah hugged herself tightly as the words fell out of her mouth. "I think we should end it, before either of us becomes too invested in one another." She wasn't going to ask him to chose between her and Sherlock, she feared she knew the answer. She looked back up to see John stunned. He was torn between staying here or checking on Sherlock.

But finally he asked, "You've already made up your mind then?" He wasn't going to beg for forgiveness, or try to explain himself, because somehow he knew she was right. He would always chase after Sherlock, for as long as he could. Sarah nodded solemnly.

"Right then, I'll pick up my things from the office on Monday" John said, steering for the door.

"I'm not firing you!" Sarah called after him. John turned for the last time to face Sarah in her house. "I know, but do you really want to see me chase after him day after day? This is for the best Sarah, a clean cut." This was the least he could do for Sarah, John was a kind man, he wasn't going to make her watch her ex-boyfriend chase around an asexual genius.

"Goodbye Sarah", John said while closing the front door.

Sarah now stood alone, with a single tear drop falling down her cheek, "Goodbye John".

"Now Sherlock, you can't be serious", Mycroft scoffed. He and Sherlock were now sitting in the destroyed flat.

"Yes, Mycroft. I need them, something tells me that this was no ordinary explosion", Sherlock said insistently, taking up his violin, he begun to tune it. The violin calmed him, and currently, Sherlock needed all the calming he could get.

"Fine Sherlock, these better last you through the year this time", Mycroft pulled out a box of nicotine patches and handed them to Sherlock. Except they weren't nicotine patches but disguised as them; they were blood repression patches. Over the years, the Holmes family had invented a patch to keep the bloodlust down to a bare minimum, for when they had to. They weren't a favorite of Sherlock's, but when the time called for them he would use it, like when he was on a case for over a week and couldn't find the time to feed. When putting one on there is a surge of insist nausea, followed by a consisting itch. The nausea fades soon after by the itching stays until the patch is removed, or until the allotted time of the patch passes and the blood lust come back tenfold.

Sherlock took the box from Mycroft, ripped it open and slapped a patch on his arm. The nausea hit him fast, but he was used the nasty feeling. He sighed relaxing into his chair.

Mycroft looked at Sherlock hesitantly, breathing out before asking his question. "Sherlock… have you at least thought about it?"

Sherlock's eyelids shot open as he made eye contact the man across from him, "I've been considering it.. You must realize that this will change everything about you and I'm not sure if little Mymy is ready for that". Sherlock called him by the pet name he was given as a kid because it always made him twitch.

Mycroft straitened up, "I AM ready, just change me no-"

Sherlock eyes transformed into a dark, bottomless black color, "NO Mycroft" he said with a snarl. His whole demeanor changed, as an evil aura began to pulse from him

Mycroft froze. Regaining his composure he began, "But I'm-"

"Sherlock? Are you here?" John called from the bottom of the steps. Mycroft gave Sherlock one last glare, settling back into his chair, before John came running into the room.

"Sherlock are you alright? Ah—Mycroft", John stopped halfway into the room, assessing all the damage John.

"Oh, what yea I'm fine", Sherlock said re taking up his violin. He straightened up in his seat and when he had open his eyes again they had returned to normal. "Mycroft was just on his way out", Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"Yes, well then Sherlock… until next time", Mycroft got up, straitened his suit and headed for the door. He gave John one last glance before leaving. John noticed the glance but couldn't figure out what he meant by it. It was almost as if Mycroft looked… sorry for John.

Sherlock still hadn't fed since he made John leave the previous night and even though the patches helped, John's presence made his hunger stir. He convinced himself that he could hold out until he could slip away later for a quick snack. Sherlock looked up to see John already starting to pick up the wrecked flat.

"What caused the explosion?" John asked, deciding that he could pick up the flat later, he took a seat.  
>"A gas leak so they say anyways", Sherlock said observing John's current state. "So how was the sofa at Sarah's?" he asked after staring at John for a good 15 seconds. John cringed a bit at Sherlock's words and this didn't go unnoticed by the detective. "oooh I see it now, how could I have missed it, the ruffled hair, blurry eyes with dark patches underneath, you and Sarah broke-"<p>

"JESUS Sherlock.. Just stop", John yelled. After a moment of silence John finally said, "and it's all your fault you sod, you can't have a quiet evening in to safe you own life".

Sherlock cracked a grin at what John said and John didn't miss that. They stared meaningfully into each other's eyes for a moment, John forgiving Sherlock for his earlier actions and Sherlock thanking John for his understanding. And just like that the moment passed, tension gone completely from their previous arguments. Sherlock's phone buzzed and he picked up as soon as he saw the caller I.D.

"Lestrade?... Yes I'll be there soon", Sherlock stood, placing his violin back in the chair and heading for his coat. He hung up, stuffed the phone in his coat pocket and reached for his scarf.

"What did Lestrade want?" John asked, looking eagerly at Sherlock.

"A case, got a parcel from somewhere", Sherlock said while stopping at the door. He thought he could feed a bit while he was at the police station, when no one noticed of course, but before he knew what he was saying the words slipped out, "do you want to come?" Sherlock's brain paused. What WAS it doing he thought furiously, he couldn't just slip away if John was right by his side.

"Do you want me to come?" John asked cautiously, even though they had just gotten over their fight, he was in no rush to live with an upset, irrational Sherlock after 5 minutes of peace.

Sherlock wanted to refuse; it was going to be safer for John even if he got the smallest amount of blood in him. At the same time, he couldn't bare the thought of being apart from him longer than possible so he finally said, "Of course, where would I be without my blogger". Damn him, damn him and his cardigans. Sherlock blamed his stupid vampire tendency to be possessive and over-protective.

When John was finally ready the pair headed downstairs to catch a cab. As they reached the bottom, John said, "Next time, text me when it's NOT your fault something explodes near our flat. Might save me a girlfriend." John tried to joke, he really just wanted to make sure Sherlock would tell him if he was hurt or not. John didn't truly mind his break-up with Sarah; it wasn't Sherlock's fault John would always chose him.

Sherlock just gave John another grin. According to Sherlock's mind, John wouldn't have to worry about 'girlfriend' troubles for much longer.

_AN: baaaajasdfhadh sorry for all the mistakes, but I just really didn't want to edit this. The next three chapters (finally) get better! Well at least for exciting to write (if you know what I mean ;)… because I don't :P) and again I want to thank you all for the alerts and fav's! It's like a bucket full of rainbows and cupcakes whenever I open my inbox to see so many emails from fanfiction. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I Still own nothing_

This, was getting ridiculous, Sherlock thought to himself. In the past 3 days, every single time he tried to slip away to feed quickly, the bright pink phone would ping. And over the course of those 3 days, John had been with him every. Single. Minute. Trying to help solve the BIG mystery. Sherlock was either rushing around to get information, to solve the cases as fast as possible, or fighting his nature to not rip anyone's throat out and drain them dry. At first it was all fun, just a game, someone as clever as himself to play with. But now, he was starved. Not even the patches were keeping down the blood lust he felt. It wasn't helping that the man who was causing most of this burst of blood lust, was at his side near 24/7.

The one time he tried to stall and not solve the case as soon as he had the answer (so he could go feed), the elderly lady was blown to pieces. No matter what he said to John, he felt guilt. This person, Moriarty, whoever he was, knew too many things. Sherlock was sure that one, Moriarty knew he was a vampire, two, that he knew that Sherlock had to feed sometime soon and three, that this game would be over soon.

Other than that, Sherlock had no idea what this Moriarty's intentions were. If he were a hunter, why bother with this stupid game. Usually hunters don't kill other humans to play with a vampire, so that's out. For research? Why not just try and capture him like others had attempted in the past? Again, why would a human, kill others for his attention, it doesn't make sense, Sherlock yelled in his mind. It's obvious that he's toying with me, trying to draw me out, but for what?

John's scent brought him back to the present. He had just sat down behind Sherlock with yet another warm cup of tea. Sherlock winced and brought his knees up to himself on the chair he was sitting on. Sherlock tried to not let the smell assault his senses; for goodness sake he should not have to go through this every time John was within a 5 foot radius of him. But yet again, Sherlock went light headed and was reminded of his ever growing lust and appetite for his friend. The compulsion was ticking slowly at the back of his head, growing louder and louder, making its presence known. His fangs began to descend from his mouth without his control, wanting to bite into something and fast.

Sherlock used all of his will power to retract his sharpened teeth, to fight the want to jump John and just make him bleed. He didn't want to hurt John, but his vampire instincts kicked in and made that image the hottest thing he could imagine. This was only happening because he had gone to many days without drinking, Sherlock reasoned with himself. Not because he wanted to drain John only to heal him again and again… and again. He imaged John beneath him, wriggling with pleasure and pain, taking him over and over while biting into the sweet curve of John's neck. He pictured John lost beyond all of his control, pleasure over riding his usual understanding self. John, still lightly bleeding from his neck while wanking off in front of him; John, begging for more with his arse up in the air.

"Sherlock, you're drooling", John commented. Overwhelmed with the doctor's sudden presence, Sherlock jumped back further into his seat, pressing into the cushions. John was leaning over him, looking concerned. He must have come ever when Sherlock was to… deep in thought and not responding to whatever he was saying.

"Sherlock, are you alright? You haven't eaten in a while." John said. He looked at Sherlock, face full of concern. He had worried about his friend over the last past couple of days. John noticed how he seemed more on edge than usual, jumping at the slightest of movements, always on guard from something. His doctoring self kicked in when he saw just how pale Sherlock was.

Sherlock felt the hand move before he saw it. John was going to take his temperature. John was going to touch him. Sherlock froze. Noo, noo John don't, were his last thoughts before the warm flesh pressed against his forehead. If Sherlock thought John's scent was nerve-racking and lust causing, he was totally unprepared for John to touch him in this state.

The sensation was over-powering. He closed his eyes; feeling John's pulse on his forehead, the aroma of him ebbing on to Sherlock. John was speaking but Sherlock could no longer hear the words, only the rush of blood pulsing through John's heart. He tilted his head up into John's hand and moaned deeply. All too soon the sensation stopped. Sherlock re-opened his eyes, now completely black, to see that John had taken a step back. He was saying something again..

"Did- did you just moan Sherlock?", The lost of the wonderful feelings John caused had driven Sherlock off the deep end. He Lunged out of his chair, grabbed John by his wrists and immediately shoved him up against the nearest wall. Hands on John's wrists, the sensations returned 3 fold. He felt John's heart rate increase underneath his fingertips, Sherlock flattened himself against John trying to get scent over him. He leaned over, pressing his lips to John's open neck.

His tongue slid out from his lips, daring to taste John's skin. The first touch was incredible, John tasted like warm tea, the stimulation flooded through him. Sherlock want so much more than to just taste his skin, but to devour the essence of John himself.

Something inside of Sherlock was changing, sending his observation mode into over-drive. John's scent was washing over him, mending and bending with his own to create a new one. He could feel the change in John's heart rate, beat by beat. He could hear John's voice, but was too lost to take in the words. He even felt the vibrations John's words were making in his chest. He was losing himself in the presence that was John.

Sherlock slipped his knee between John's legs. Just as he was about to begin hopelessly grinding himself against John, he sensed something wrong. John's scent was beginning to smell of panic and desperation. Sherlock lifted his head to see John struggling with all his might. He hadn't even felt anything as he restrained the smaller man against the wall. He was saying something again, but Sherlock still couldn't make out the words. John looked like he was calming down now that he had Sherlock's attention, but his pulse was still elevated. Fear evident in John's now dilated eyes, Sherlock growled, frustrated.

"Why John? Why are you so different!", Sherlock yelled into John's neck. He touched and fed from others when he was hungrier than this and these feeling were never brought about then. He flung himself off of John and backed away towards the door.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell was that?" John demanded an answer, but Sherlock continued to flee towards the outside of their flat. He quickly grabbed his scarf and made a rush for the door, somehow reminding himself to keep human speed.

"SHERLOCK!" John yelled at him as he finally left, slamming the door behind him. He poofed away, so when John re-opened the door, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John looked astonished, how could he disappear so quickly? He looked down both ends of the street, and with a sign of defeat, resigned to go back into his flat and wait until the detective would return with answers.

Sherlock had re-appeared across the street from 221b, taking cover in an alley adjacent to their home. That was to close, he thought to himself breathing out heavily. This game was ending. Now.

Sherlock tried to think of excuses he could tell John, to make him think it was a drug of some sort or something. No matter what possibility his brain tried to make up, John wasn't that big of an idiot. Even though it was dark in their flat, how could he have missed Sherlock's eyes turning completely black? He wished he could remember what John was saying, but the haze was to strong. Did John say something about his eyes? His strength? With all of his might Sherlock just tried to recall John's words, but only remembered the pleasure of touching him.

He sighed deeply and then took in a deep breath, smelling John on him. He looked up towards the night sky and right then and there; he decided he would tell John everything. It would only be a matter of time before he found out anyways, better to hear it from himself. But for now, he had to finish off a certain annoyance.

Pulling out his phone, he sent off the text, **"The pool. Midnight."**

Sherlock didn't want to feed until this was over, knowing what happened last time. He grinned, thinking that the taste of Moriarty's blood would soon make this entire torture worth it. He could then be around John with no hunger again, making John safer in the process. The thought made Sherlock smile deeply. His expression quickly became hard-set as he made his way to the pool.

John sat back down in his favorite arm chair, reaching out for his now cold tea. John stared adamantly at the space in front of him, coming to terms with what just happened. He felt like screaming aloud, he felt shocked, he felt surprised. Surprised that Sherlock would even consider doing something like that with another human being, let alone John. He thought that Sherlock was Asexual, he thought himself to be striate, but when Sherlock looked at him, eyes dark as night, something awoke in John. Although he did feel fear when he was attacked, anticipation began to overtake him the longer the hold went on. And that's what scared him the most. He liked it.

Who was he kidding, John laughed aloud in the empty room, he been staring longingly and Sherlock for awhile, long before tonight ever happened. He just wrote it off, it wasn't important, it would pass; were all things he told himself, blissfully ignorant staying by Sherlock's side.

A voice in the back of his head told him that he should be more afraid, that he should just start packing now. But John was a man of action; he wanted answers and refused to run away. Shocked though he was, John would never cower just because he crazy, insane, wonderful, beautiful flat mate scared him a bit.

Did he just think beautiful?

"What the bloodly hell…", he whispered under his breath. He cursed Sherlock for causing him to have a sexual identity crisis, then running away promptly. John put his tea back down, put his hands up to his face, messaging it slightly and took a deep breath. He would take this one step at a time, and the first thing to do was to see what Sherlock meant by it. He wouldn't get worked up all over it if it was nothing. He refused to sit at home and stew in his feelings; so he grabbed his coat and started to head down the stairs. Just as he was heading down to exit the flat, the door knob began to turn slowly.

John paused halfway down, "Sneaking back inside won't help, let's just talk about this ok Sherlock?" he huffed out at what he thought was Sherlock's childish behavior. Then John heard a chuckle that certainly didn't belong to the detective and multiple feet shuffling outside. The door slammed open to reveal three tall muscular men, all rushing towards John. 'Oh not again', John thought to himself as he rushed back upstairs to get to his gun. He got back to the top, only to realize that the door locked behind him when he left. Grumbling he turned to see the first man reach out for him. John quickly ducked and gave the burly man an uppercut. He tumbled down the stairs taking the second down with him. The third however jumped over them and ran up to John.

John tried to fight him off, but the man got John into a grapple. By the time John could do anything, one of the other guys had made to him and harshly shoved a chloroform cloth into his face. John's last thought before the darkness set it was something around the lines of, "OH BLOODY FUCK I BETTER NOT BE THE FINAL BLOODY PIP FOR THIS GODDAMMED GAM…" then his consciousness faded.

_Soooo…. Here's an update. I really do want to say thanks for the reviews and the alerts! It means a lot . Once again, I apologize for the grammar mistakes, editing my stories makes me wonder how I even managed to pass elementary school… I do want to apologize for the long wait, the last couple of months have just been crazy, but no excuses! I'll try to update more regularly from now on, but no promises!_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing! All kudos to Author Conan Doyle and the producers of Sherlock

The first thing John felt as his consciousness returned was… heavy. He felt weighted down, stuck. He attempted to move his arms, but they felt like they had turned into led. In fact, his entire body felt like it was a two ton brick. Or, at least that it had been hit by one. That's when his memories of being abducted returned.

"God damned drugs", he groaned. He had no choice but to wait until feeling returned to his body. He tried to open his eyes, only to be met with a blinding light. John immediately shut them and fought the oncoming head ache. He cursed under his breath, if he were Sherlock none of this would have happened. He would know where he was because of the thickness of the air or the smell of the area or something crazy.

He couldn't take in anything, hell he could even tell if he was sitting up, or laying down. It felt like hours had passed before his ear's started to ring. John's head began spinning again, soon making him feel nauseous.

"Aaaaaaw c'mon pet, we just started waking up!", a cheery voiced called out. John tried to snap his head up to see where the voice had come from, only to be greeted with more nausea. Groaning he put his head back down. Pins and needles started in as feeling returned to his finger tips and toes, the back of his head met a thud against something that made it level with his body. _So, laying down then…_

"DON'T pass out again dear, it's almost time for the show!" John heard steps getting closer and closer and he tried to get up to a sitting position, only to slump and roll over whatever he was laying on. John landed with a thud on the ground, pain shooting up his bad shoulder.

"Gaaah", he cried out. Hearing the steps growing closer, he got up again and tried to crawl away using whatever body part had feeling in it. Using only his left arm to steady him, and one leg to push backwards he slowly began to make process.

"Now that, is simply adorable doctor, an army man to the end I guess", the voice said, sounding closer then John expected. Still unable to open his eyes because of the light he had no idea how far this man was from him. Just then John backed up into a corner, unable to pull back anymore, the footsteps caught up. Panic set in but he wouldn't let it control him.

"Sooooo cute! I wish I had one", the voiced cooed from right in front of Johns face, "cornered like the dog you are, how does it feel doctor?" Suddenly there was a weight in John's lap. _This guy… was he. _John cracked open one eye to confirm his fears; this maniac was indeed straddling him.

"There's a good boy, open your eyes all the way", the man said slyly. When John didn't, he felt a ripping pain in his arm. John cried out wordlessly as yet another cut sliced into his forearm.

"I SAID OPEN THEM", he shouted into John's scrunched up face. John finally complied, light bursting into his retina's. His head started swirling again as he tried to focus in on his enemy. The man grabbed him by his jaw and forced John to make eye contact with him. The brightness made his vision dim, but there was no mistaking the look of madness in the man's expression. John could literally see the thrill in the other mans eyes, starring back into his own.

"Moriarty…" John breathed out.

"BINGO!" He cried out, "It's about time you came to, let's be honest, I was expecting a little more from you". Moriarty let out a small laugh, "you _almost_ missed party time pet".

The door easily swung open when Sherlock pulled it. He wondered in slowly, not knowing what to expect. At first his eyes took in everything; to just a normal person it looked like a regular pool, but Sherlock saw otherwise. The pool had been cleaned, recently. Every stall, entrance, exit, and tile polished to its brightest. Somebody made their meeting place in tip-top shape. He would feel honored if he wasn't so god damned thirsty.

After he observed no visible threat he decided to call out, "Sorry I couldn't bring you a little getting-to-know you present, but we both know what this is really all about don't we". He took a breath in trying to sort out the smell from the chorine, but it was too strong. _Moriarty must have added more… _So continued to move forward while saying, "All the puzzles, making me dance, keeping from feeding, well here I am."

That when he finally sorted out a scent that wasn't chlorine. The same scent that had been making him lose his mind for the last couple of weeks. _NO_, Sherlock thought before John walked out of his hiding place. "John.." he breathed out.

"Well, this is quite the turn up isn't it Sherlock?" John said emotionlessly. Sherlock tried to process what was going on. Half of him wanted to find another solution but the more logical sign won out. He had been fooled. It was John the whole time, how else would 'Moriarty' always know when he went out and tried to feed. John was nearly always by his side, of course it was him! He cried out in his brain. He wasn't the master of emotions but he knew what betrayal was. He had a lifetime of it. Not from John though, John wouldn't do this. But the evidence was there, lain out before him; just like a present. Wait..

Sherlock noticed John's abnormal amount of blinking… was he, yes! It was Morse code! … S…O…S. Sherlock let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt so relived, yet so utterly afraid of the man across from him. He was making him feel so many new things, happiness, excitement, lust; so many emotions that he forgot he once had. He was afraid FOR him. He wanted to protect John, NOT put him in dangers way. That's when he noticed the blood dripping from his sleeve.

Of course he felt his thirst, but a much more prominent feeling erupted from him. Moriarty hurt HIS John.

"Bet you weren't expec-" John continued when Sherlock shouted, "ENOUGH of the games, show yourself Moriarty."

There was a pause in the air before a voice sounded from the back of the pool, "I gave you my number". A man, 5'9 in height stepped out from the door. Sherlock didn't listen to the words he was saying only taking in details that would help end Moriarty's life faster.

When the man approached closer to John, Sherlock began to growl. "Now now Sherlock dear, it's rude to ignore your host after all". Sherlock crouched into an attack stance ready to pounce on the man if he got any closer. His eyes turned completely Black, claws and fangs extending. _He can't hurt John anymore_ "uh uh uh Sherlock, we won't be having any of that just yet". That's when the laser dropped down to John's chest, aiming for the vitals.

Sherlock immediately straitened up, still glaring at Moriarty. He didn't want to look at John, he didn't want to see the look of horror, of disgust in his eyes. He retracted his fangs, but his eyes remained pitch black. "What do you want?" Sherlock growled.

"I thought you would have figured that out by know Sherlock, how sad", Moriarty chuckled walking up, stopping next to John. He reached over to John's wounded arm and squeezed hard. He fought back a whimper, as Moriarty applied even more pressure. Sherlock finally looked over to John at last, not to see anything he expected. Not anger, hatred, but an expression that read '_You bloody hell got me into this, you better get me out you bastard'. _He observed the fear in his eyes but _most _of it wasn't directed towards him. Better than what he thought would happen.

"Pet's are cute aren't they? Especially with a life as long as yours Sherlock", He released his grip on John and started pacing toward Sherlock. John grabbed his injured arm and held in tight, trying to stop the bleeding.

"What I want Sherlock is you! Your immortality, it isn't a fair game if one player lives forever now is it! Let me tell how surprised I was when I dug that up, I thought your kind died out yeeeears ago", At that John's head snapped up.

"OOOOH what's this? John doesn't know?! Ooh Johnny boy aren't you in for a treat!" Moriarty went back to John and grabbed his face. Sherlock growled at the touch. Moriarty forced John to look at Sherlock in the eyes, gripping his face firmly.

"The drugs are all out of your system by now doctor, it's not a hallucination, your friend Sherlock here is 100% vampire".

_A/N: sorrrrrrrrrrrry D':_


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: Same as always, I own nothing_

'_No no no no no no no no It's just the drugs', _John reasoned with himself, yet his head was no longer swimming, his vision was crystal clear, his senses returned to normal. The longer he was forced to look at Sherlock, the more he couldn't deny how un-human he appeared.

"Why don't you bring back out your fangs Sherlock, I'm sure your Johnny here only needs a bit more proof, icing on top of the cake if you will", Moriarty grinned menacingly; he loved this. Tearing up Sherlock from the inside out, making him FEEL. How disgusting. What a perfect punishment for not being the figure he wanted him to be.

"I'm sure John doesn't want to be hurt anymore, Sherly dear, so if you could please", Moriarty drew out his pocket knife and began running it along John's cheek, "hurry it up". Sherlock tensed as the metal met John's face, his eyes still captivated on Sherlock, the detective sighed. He revealed the fangs once more and heard John gasp.

This isn't what he wanted. He didn't want to scare John away, or make him afraid. For the first time in a long time Sherlock felt sadness. What if he ran away? What if he doesn't accept me? GOD why should I even try anymore.

"C'mon Johnny boy, you can speak ya'know", Moriarty said into John's ear, enjoying the look of aguish on Sherlock's face. Moriarty chuckled softly, before shoving the doctor to the ground. John landed on his backside, but never stopped staring at Sherlock. _It can't be true…_

Sherlock shook with anger, but still couldn't return John's gaze. _He knows, he knows, he knows, he will never look at me with the same eyes ever again. _Re-focusing on the enemy in front of him, it was time to end this. Returning to a nonchalant attitude, he straitened his back. Sherlock tilted his head down as he glared at Moriarty, the air suddenly turning cold. It looked as if the man opposite of him shivered for a second, out of fear or excitement Sherlock couldn't identify. _Don't look at John, don't think of John. I just need to get us out of this for now… the rest later. _

"So what, is this it then?" Sherlock questioned mockingly, "THIS is what you called me out for?" His body began to shake with laughter. "You think I would change a pathetic, small human such as yourself? How sad". Moriarty face flinched, hiding his anger.

"Well look at yourself, _my dear_, you're not exactly living up to the vampire legend now are you?", the maniac retorted, slowly approaching Sherlock, "your kind was feared, and for good reason. Look at you now, hunting low level scum, running from the light, you went as far to become _domesticated_. You're calling me sad?" Moriarty stopped in front of the vampire, "I'm the pathetic one, now am I?"

Sherlock stared down at the man for a moment before saying, "Why do you think I'm one of the last?" Sherlock walked forward, making Moriarty take a step back. "How do you think I've lived this long? Because I killed you pigs like the animal's you are? No, I was smart. I knew that would lead to my death so I hid." He put his face right in front of the mad mans, "and look where It got me" Sherlock licked his fangs as he finished speaking.

Moriarty stood motionless. Even with a blood thirsty vampire starring him down, he didn't feel fear. Only excitement shown in his face, his goal so close to being completed, "Yes, can't you see it too?!"

"You lived to complete me Sherlock! I can live up to the vampire's true name like you never would, that is your purpose." Moriarty exhaled longingly, "So, change me already, so I can do what your weakness stopped you from."

"Unfortunately, it's not your choice", Sherlock announced pointly. At this, Moriarty's mouth twitched into a smile.

"_Actually, _it is", Moriarty said as his gleeful expression returned. Moriarty reached towards his ear and an almost inaudible click sounded; "Hello Seb, mind aiming straight at our guest's skull for a moment". Sherlock heard a whimper from behind him, and didn't have to look around to know what he would see.

John was still staring at Sherlock wide eyed, this wasn't the man he had gotten to know in the last couple of months… Who was he kidding. This mostly explained everything; his grumpiness, his hatred for the sun and thus the solar system itself, his cold attitude. As John sat on the tiled ground watching the men talk back and forth, he actually couldn't believe he didn't come to this conclusion sooner. Still, this new Sherlock, the mask he had put on for Moriarty, he didn't like this Sherlock. _Why won't he look at me?_ When the laser fell to his face, he couldn't help but let out a small sound, and even then Sherlock didn't look at him. _Look at me, just look at me please! I need to know if it's still you. _

"Oh let me guess, if I don't change you, you kill John? How Dull" Sherlock sighed. He refused to show Moriarty any more emotion. _'He wouldn't actually kill John, he is his only bargaining sh-_

Moriarty's smile cracked, "fire".

Sherlock whipped around, coat swirling behind him to see the bullet wiz by John's face. "It may be dull", Moriarty said, "but at least its effective". _So much for that plan, _Sherlock thought. _Don't look at him, don't look at him-_

Without meeting eye contact with John he quickly accessed his health and determined he was fine enough for now. No sight of a panic attack or flashback. _ I will get us out of this, _Sherlock thought.

"SO, have at it then Sherlock, turn me or", another shot fired, "lose him", Moriarty stated cheerfully. "Think of it as a sort of… insurance".

Sherlock turned to face the man again, anger radiating from his features. He couldn't lose John, not after waiting so long to bond with someone. He just couldn't. After a few moments of silence he whispered, "Fine".

John, suddenly finding his voiced called out, "Sherlock don't!"

Both of the genius's attention returned to the man on the ground. Moriarty was the first to move, "If you even think of flinching _Monster_ I won't hesitate to have him shot here and now". When he reached John, Sherlock could only watch as Moriarty kicked his injured arm, and stomped down on his stomach. John started coughing as Moriarty continued beating every inch of his life out of him.

"ENOUGH", Sherlock chocked out, "I've got what you want, just… leave him out of this". Moriarty paused, foot still placed on John's chest, before he turned to meet Sherlock's gaze, leaving John to squirm underneath him.

"Well then, let's get started at last!", he said while loosening his tie. He looked back down to the crumpled figure of John and grinned. "Get up pet! You're going to want to see this in action!" he bent down, grabbed John by his shirt and thrust him against the nearest wall. Sherlock's face twitched in annoyance; Moriarty noticed and said, "Oh people do get very protective of their pets don't they".

"Let's get this over with shall we", Sherlock growled under his voice.

"If you even think of trying to kill me, don't worry, Seb here will end his life faster than even YOU can blink", tapping the mic in his ear. Sherlock closed in on the man standing over John, faster than humanly possible.

"Wouldn't dream of it", he grinned, "This might hurt". And with that, Sherlock sunk his teeth into Moriarty's neck. Yelling was mixed in with the disgusting sounds of slurping. Sherlock didn't use any of his natural pain killers; he wanted this man to feel aguish. John was left, helplessly unable to look away from the horrid sight. Sherlock slipped his hand up Moriarty's head, holding it in place. He was so hungry, so starved but if he didn't stop John would… he needed no more encouragement.

After what felt like an eternity, Sherlock detached from the mad man; blood staining his beautifully pale face. Moriarty sighed deeply, trying to hide how weak on his knee's he felt. After another long torturous moment Sherlock used one of his claws to tear open his own skin on the arm. The cut was deep enough to heavily bleed down his wrist, turning his skin red. The blood dropped down onto John's pants, staining it permanently, just like his memory of this night.

"Drink", he commanded.

Moriarty eagerly bent over and began lapping up the blood, trying not to miss a single drop. He raked his tongue up and down Sherlock's arm, worshipping the poisoned liquid he has craved for so long now. His lips finally clasped on the open wound and sucked to his cruel heart's content.

Sherlock jerked his arm back, "That's quite enough now".

"More", Moriarty called out, "it's so sweet".

"Anymore and you find yourself in a lot more pain in about 4 minutes", Sherlock said calmly, "Our deal is done here; I suggest you go".

"You're really just going to let me go, all for that sad sack of meat and bones", Moriarty said incredulously, pointing to John sitting beneath them, "I almost can't believe it". Moriarty finding the strength he needed to get over to the exit.

"Oh don't worry, I'll catch you later", He said still not removing his sight from the man.

Moriarty cheerily replied, "No you wooon't!", as he closed the door behind him, disappearing from line sight. Sherlock instantly focused in on John, not knowing weither to give him space or help him up, hell, he didn't know his John even wanted to see him ever again. John, seeing confusion take over Sherlock's features, decided to make the first move.

"…Sherlock?", He almost whispered. The detective head shot to the direction of John's voice. Still afraid of seeing John's face and what it would tell him.

"Uuuh right", he said backing away from him, "are you alright, John?" Sherlock questioned. "Are you hurt? Well more than what I've seen and already observed. Did he hurt you in any psychological way? My god he didn't show you any black ritual crap did he, that's all pointless against us, did he—"

"SHERLOCK", John said getting to his knees. "I'm fine. Really I am. Look at me." John stood up all the way, favoring his right side. When Sherlock stopped talking and didn't move, John began to worry.

"Sherlock… why won't you look at me..?". Again more silence. What John did next surprised even him, even though he WAS afraid of Sherlock right now, Sherlock needed him more than the other way around. He always had time to panic later; this moment would never come again. It was just a sense he had, he was the more adult of the two anyways. He ignored his instinct to be afraid, to run, hide and reached out for Sherlock's cheek. As first Sherlock flinched from the touch, but soon felt the warmth calling to him. He pushed his face into John's and began to tear up. _How could he be so… human._

"Look at me", John said softly. He used his hand to tilt Sherlock's face towards him. Now all Sherlock had to do was open his eyes. Something was still holding him back, so John once again ignored his gut and did the second stupidest act of that night. He stepped forward and hugged Sherlock deeply, curling one of his hands in Sherlock's hair and rubbing the other one around his back. Sherlock slumped into the embrace, letting his anxiety drip away.

The next second he pushed John back gently and gave his most Sherlock smile, "That's not really the best idea right now, hunger and all of that". He said, as if being a vampire didn't matter at all.

John hesitated for a moment, he would have to get used to that terminology, "Yea well, moving in with you in the first place wasn't my brightest idea". At that they both shared a quick laugh. Sherlock realized his hand fell into John's and neither went to remove it.

"Gods, will you please look at me now Sherlock", he said messaging the back of his hands. The things this man was doing was incredible. It was pure happiness radiating from his long dead body. He felt accepted, at last. He opened his eyes and reached up with his free hand to touch John's face. The observation's flooded into his head. From less important ones about his new toothbrush, to how brave he tried to be when Moriarty had captured him. The lines in his face that appeared when someone was drugged; but also the signs of a true smile settled on his features. He saw the fear in him, but he also so caring, willing to give him a chance, and understanding. He stared and John stared back, watching Sherlock's eyes slowly return to normal. John smiled so lovingly.

Abruptly, the smile turned into a face of utter pain. Sherlock's eyebrows knit-together in confusion. What had-

"Sooooooooorry boys! I'm SOOO changeable", an all too familiar voice called out. His head popped out from behind John, Menace written across his features. There was a sickening sliding sound, as Moriarty removed the blade from John's back. Everything quieted as Sherlock watched John fall to the ground, his hand slipping from Sherlock's.

Sherlock stood frozen, watching John on the ground. _No.. NO __**NOO. **_The blood was draining out of him so fast. He as looked down, he felt no blood lust, no hunger, no cravings. Only despair. Pure deep hearted, blackest of the black despair. He felt as if his actual heart had just been carved out and put on display for others to ruin. For a moment, the entity of Sherlock stopped existing and some dark creature replaced him. He couldn't think or function, nor process what just happen.

His gaze returned to Moriarty for the final time. Sherlock's tears froze, his stare chilled Moriarty still. With just a flick of his eyes, he threw Moriarty across the room. Sherlock's presence began to loom of him, ensnarling him to his spot. He tried to get up, to move away, but found his entire body paralyzed. Sherlock's footsteps echoed across the pool as he approached the frozen man. There was no expression on Sherlock's face only a dead light glimmered faintly in his eyes.

"What- What did you do?" Moriarty chocked out, "I can't move—Seb shoot him!" Silence passed. "Sebastian SHOOT HIM NOW", his voice whimpered pathetically.

"I was going to let you go you know," Sherlock started, "let you live the dream for awhile before I eventually tracked you down on my own."

"SEEEEB-", Moriarty started.

"Will you stop that you annoying insect, I turned it off before you left. Never let your guard down around a vampire, especially me", Sherlock scoffed.

"But when- when you bit me, of course, you weren't holding me still, but—"

"Ohhh so you can think for yourself", Sherlock said mockingly, 'cute'.

"I read about this though! You shouldn't have this power over me! We equals, both vampires now! What's going on?!", Moriarty demanded.

"Well, that's because YOU'RE not a vampire" Sherlock said, stopping in front of the trapped man. "You are a thrall".

"Wha-"

Sherlock motioned his hand and Moriarty was instantly silenced. "I'm getting tired of your voice. I took your blood into my own and poisoned it. When you drank from me, you didn't get a drip of my actual blood, but all your own. You have no "special powers", no strength, not anything. You are my slave now. Nod if you understand that."

Moriarty tried to fight in his mind, but nodded in the end.

"Good, now listen closely because I will not repeat", Sherlock stated emotionlessly, "You are going to walk out of here, you changed your mind again! Call off all the troops and then head home. You will say nothing abnormal and act your part. The next day you will call the officer Lestrade, I know you have his number. Give him your list of contacts and tell him you know of a meeting occurring in 5 days. After you hang up you will arrange this so-called "meeting" and when it's all done…"

Sherlock took a breath, "Go to the top of the highest roof you know and think you can fly."

As Moriarty walked off enchanted, Sherlock went back to John. How was he supposed to deal with this? He just began re-awakening his emotions, to have them torn so cruelly away. His was as dead on this inside as he was on the out. Dropping to his knees, for the first time in hundreds of years, he wept. He put his hand back to John's face, feeling warmth fade from his skin. No longer would he see him smile, frown, laugh or run. Sherlock knelt down even further and pressed his forehead into John's, tears he thought he couldn't shed fell unto John's dormant face.

_Ba-dump_

Sherlock heard something so faint, even for his ears. He choked past his tears, and listened intently. The next moment was agonizing, until he heard another faint-

_Ba-dump_

John's heart was still working, he was alive! He gently curled his arms under John and rolled him onto his back. Ripping off the cardigan, he saw the wound was afflicted near his lower back, lots of bleeding, but no vital organs hit. Sherlock put his mouth to the wound, injecting it with the healing agent in his saliva. He finally got to taste John's blood, but cared little for it for it right now. He wouldn't let his vampire nature kill John. He just couldn't at this point.

Rolling John back over, Sherlock looked at John's face expectantly. More time ticked away, and this time nothing happened. John's heart was still beating but he didn't wake up. Sherlock not being able to stare at the emotionless face of john a moment longer, he curled up around his body. Snaking his arm's under John's he held on tightly. Sherlock pressed his face into the other man's chest and just laid there, wishing he could die with his love.

_A/N: Here's another chapter for you all! I stopped writing this because I got really discouraged from continuing it. When I re-read my previous chapters, I thought they sounded so disjointed and honestly? ..bad. I do have very low self-esteem when it comes to my own writing, because I fear I write like a 5__th__ grader. still. I hate leaving things unfinished! So, for those who actually do like this I shall complete it! I'll try not to disappoint! _

_Also I just figured out how to reply to comments! (Yes, I am such a noob I know) So if its a normal thing to reply to them I apologize! and if no one actually does that then... hmmm IDK ILL JUST GO BE AWKWARD OVER IN THIS CORNER KAY' BYE_

_Courkytron used LAME AUTHOR'S NOTE. IT WAS SUPER EFFECTIVE _


	8. Chapter 8

_A/E: If you're reading this right now and are not extremely upset about my lack of updating, then all the applause to you! Same as always, nothings mine._

John awoke to the sensation of being picked up. He tried to open his eyes, but he felt no energy left in him. _I'm turning into such a pansy _he thought as he blacked out again. Consciousness returned to him as he felt wind brush against his face. He realized he was being carried and attempted to move. John managed to crack open one eye to see Sherlock. His pale white face contrasted in the night sky making it have a light glow. The wind blew his hair back, showing his determined gaze. _So... Beautiful _John thought. Darkness claimed his mind again. The next time John awaked he was back in the flat, tucked into a bed that wasn't his own.

He managed to look up with his head to take in his surroundings. John was in Sherlock's room, in his bed. He tried to get up further when a pain in his lower back and arm suddenly made itself known. John let out a small groan of pain and the next thing he knew; long cold hands were under his head and on his shoulder, encouraging him to lie back down. John tilted his head to the side to see him, Sherlock. He almost choked up at the sight; he looked paler than usual, dark rings gathering under his eyes. John lifted his good hand to reach for Sherlock, and he in turn took John's hand. They held on to each other in silence for an immeasurable amount of time, speaking with no words.

_God, you're alive_

_I could same the same to you_

_I wasn't the one who was kidnapped, drugged, and stabbed_

_No, but you look like death_

_Well being a vampire does that to you_

_Not funny Sherlock_

_I wasn't trying to be_

_Are… are you ok?_

_Now John, I should be the one saying that_

_Bollocks to that, did you even leave my side for-_

_Don't ask stupid questions_

_Look, I'm fine now, awake and alive-_

_No, I'm not leaving your side again..._

_Sherlock….._

"John", he breathed out at last as his hold tightened around John's, lowering his head, placing it on their hands. John kept looking at Sherlock, doing the observing for once. Sherlock obviously had gotten any of his type of food recently, looking worse for wear. He was touched that Sherlock hadn't left him, smiling at the fool in front of him.

"Sherlock", he said weakly, raising his free hand to Sherlock's face, cupping his cold cheek. He tilted Sherlock face back upright, before dragging it down to his own. He realized Sherlock went along with the motion, knowing that even if he wasn't weakened he probably wouldn't have had the strength to move the man if he didn't want to be moved. None the less, he pulled Sherlock closer and raised his head to make their lips meet.

It wasn't a kiss that sent sparks flying, or a kiss that made one melt. It was of one of comfort, sharing a mutual feeling of safety. Sherlock poured his worry for John's life into the kiss, how he just want to hold John when he was hurt. He showed his sorrow of the thought of John dying, of him never waking up again and he shared his silent joy when John had finally stirred.

John comforted Sherlock, adding more pressure to the kiss. Saying that it was okay now, he was fine. His lips started to tremble slightly when he remembered being kidnapped, cut, bleeding. Sherlock began moving his lips back against John's, reassuring him, apologizing to him. John sighed into it, calming down and pressed back once more telling Sherlock he knew that he would come for him, that he had faith that Sherlock would save him. Sherlock smiled before he pulled back, looking deeply into John's eyes before he sat up.

"Well", he coughed, "that went differently than our first kiss".

John smiled, "What did you expect the first time around honestly? Kissing a man who thought you weren't interested?" he said tiredly.

"I'm still half expecting you to run out the flat, once you've fully come to your senses", Sherlock quipped. His face darkened, his hunger finally reemerging. John noticed the sudden mood change and sought to immediately change it.

"Sherlock?" he asked, shifting around in the bed, attempting to get up again. Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder, making him stay in place.

"It's just…" Sherlock trailed off, "WHY exactly aren't you panicking or running away. You... know what I am now." He looked away from John, drowning in his own misery. He wouldn't, no couldn't see fear in John's face now.

"Sherlock, look at me", John said demandingly. Sherlock didn't bring his head up so John restated, "look at me" more gently this time. When Sherlock did bring his head back up, he only saw a small smile on John's face.

"First, I didn't really have time to panic now did I? Don't worry I'm sure that part will come later." Sherlock smiled back at this, John continued, "But up to this point you have done absolutely nothing to hurt me… directly", John grinned, "Even though you're a... vampire, jeez that's going to take some getting used to, your still you. Still the same Sherlock who is brilliant and mad and is grumpy when there's no case, who wouldn't go shopping to save his life, who can tell someone's job by the angle of their thumb. The SAME man who saves life's and takes criminals off the streets. Not being human doesn't change YOU at all."

Sherlock was stunned, starring into John. He hadn't known that he'd been waiting to hear these words until John said them. When he was first turned many many years ago, he feared that his condition would change him, the individual called Sherlock would disappear and a blood thirsty monster left behind. He had fought against that with all his being, clinging to his humanity. John, without knowing all of his strife said the words that accepted his pain, acknowledged his struggle to remain himself. Sherlock fell to John's chest as a sob wracked through his body.

"Thank you John", he whispered.

After another moment of comfortable silence, he sat back up and looked to John, "You must be tired; I don't want to push you anymore than I have to". John tried to argue, but in truth he was exhausted. Sherlock moved his hand to John's face, and brought his own down for one more kiss. He let his lips linger briefly, breathing in all that was the wonderful man in front of him. He considered just how lucky he had gotten, just how close he came to losing John. He swore to himself in that moment that he would never, let John be that hurt again. At least, not in his lifetime.

Once he pulled away he sighed happily, "Don't worry John, we will talk more when you've recovered, there will be plenty of time for that."

With that reassuring promise, John closed his eyes and soon fell back into slumber. Sherlock continued to gaze at John, for once not finding it hard to set aside his never ending thirst, all so he could continue being by this man's side.

_A/A: please. PLEASE FORGIVE ME. I AM NOT WORTHY. Haha truth is, my old laptop (which I've had since like 7__th__ grade) finally died on me. Which means I lost all my files, story lines, ect ect. I literally cried because I was just beginning to write this again. So I had saved up for a long time, which in the end wasn't worth it, because my friend literally just GAVE me a laptop. I mean, I can't even describe my joy at that moment. although this chapter is a little short, it just felt right to leave it there... SO without further adue(?) BUMP IN THE MATHA FUCKIN NIGHT._

_Also I would like to say really fast, that all of your kind words did not go unnoticed. Thank you all so much from the bottom of my 5__th__ grade writing level heart._


	9. Chapter 9

A/E: ha haha hahaha I just um… be leaving this here then… Sherlock still isn't mine…

That night was one of the hardest Sherlock could remember and he had been around for a while now. He sat in a chair adjacent from where John tossed and turned in the bed, murmuring feverishly in his sleep. Time seemed to pass slowly. John would sometimes awaken, gasping for air; Sherlock was always there to calm him down and give him water. Shortly after few reassurances, John would fall back into unconsciousness. Hours had passed; Mycroft arrived with a bag of blood to keep Sherlock fed. He didn't dare touch it until Mycroft had left. If Sherlock had bothered to look at his "brother", he would have seen deep concern.

Sherlock and Mycroft may not directly be blood siblings, but in the years of his growing up, Mycroft knew Sherlock. He knew of his cold demeanor, attitude and lifestyle. He learned to deduce the world around him from this vampire; aspired to be just like him. He had never seen Sherlock make this face before. With a sigh, Mycroft left the vampire and his human to themselves, wondering what the future will hold for them.

Sherlock quickly ripped open the packet of blood, gulped it down as fast as he could and flung it into the trash bin on the far side of the room. Full, but not satisfied he continued his vigil on John. The hours passed on and on, but nothing seemed to change.

Around 4 in the morning, John started fidgeting in his sleep, most likely from a nightmare. Sherlock stood from his resting place and paced over to John. He placed his hand lightly on John's shoulder, gently shaking him awake. John woke with a start. He quickly grabbed Sherlock's arm and held on to him strongly, willing the tremors wrecking his body to go away.

Once he calmed down, Sherlock made to go back to the chair but instead John's grip on his arm tightened.

"Please…" John whispered quietly, "stay". Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. Without a word, not wanting to harm the doctor's pride, he slid underneath the covers next to John. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John holding him close as possible. Pressing his chest against John's, he listened to the beating of his beautiful heart.

John coughed, "Well no matter how nice this is, I can't really sleep like this can I?" Sherlock shrugged, loosening the grip on John so he could turn around. Once the shuffling around in bed was done, Sherlock resumed holding on to John like a life line. Sherlock loved the feeling of wrapping his body around John, holding him tight, feeling his warmth; protecting his human from the outside world. Their leg's intertwined; Sherlock felt John's breathing return to its resting pace.

Upside, Sherlock's naturally cool body helped with John's temperature; Downside, Sherlock was literally pressed up against the man he's been craving for months. If he hadn't had something to drink hours earlier, he would have thought this task impossible.

It was around noon when John awoke again, sleeping more thoroughly this time. He stretched his body, pressing all that much more into Sherlock. John yawned, turning in Sherlock's arms to face him. He shifted around a bit more, still waking up. John looked up to see Sherlock staring back at him. A small smile entered his aged face before he leaned in and gave Sherlock a quick kiss.

Sherlock grinned, "Mmm what was that for?"

"Don't know, just felt like doing it", he replied. "But this one", He leaned in again, capturing Sherlock's lips in a deeper kiss, "was thank you". Sherlock moaned, tilting his head down to continue kissing John. They laid in bed, kissing each other for a while longer, moaning into each other's mouth's.

They ran each other's hands all over the other's body, feeling, touching, appreciating the closeness. Sherlock ran his hands along John's nipples, causing him to gasp. Sherlock continued to kiss down John's jaw, still rubbing his thumbs against John's chest. John moved one of his hands to cover his mouth the other now gripping onto Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock raised his head back up to look at John. Once he saw John's lust drawn features he pulled away, "We um, shouldn't go any further right now, you know? You're uhh, are still recovering from severe blood loss, a stab wound and mental fatigue…"

John groaned running a hand through his hair, "Sherlock Holmes, stuttering around his words, where is my camera when I need it?" He was about to argue that he was fine and would VERY much like to continue their previous activities, when his traitorous stomach growled loudly between them, demanding attention.

Sherlock reacted quickly nearly jumping out of bed, "Stay here, I'll return shortly with your earl gray tea and some breakfast. Or would you rather lunch because it's past 12:00 by now".

John groaned, slamming his back onto the bed none to gently, causing a twinge of pain. Right, he thought, stab wound. "Uhhh breakfast sounds perfect", He stammered out, willing his half erection to go away.

Sherlock grinned, pretending not to notice, "I'll be right back then". John heard the sounds of cooking from the other rooming, while he waited non to patiently for Sherlock's return. By the time he heard the teapot go off, John thought he would have starved to death.

Sherlock returned with some scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and of course, the tea. John quickly started eating the food when Sherlock set it in front of him.

Sherlock sat beside John on the bed and sighed, "John I'm sorry for pulling away, it's just… once I get started I really can't stop. Not the sex part, but-" Sherlock paused, unsure of how to continue. John swallowed whatever he had in his mouth, taking up his tea instead, listening intently on what Sherlock was saying. Sherlock exhaled deeply, "Once I get close enough to you, I get.. thirsty. Which I bet you could of probably figured out by now but with you John I just… lose control. I will never, never force you to do anything you don't want I promise you that, it'll just be harder…"

John nodded, taking it all in. Sherlock stared at him, looking for some sort of response. "This is the time to go running away you know?" Sherlock breathed out, putting face into his hands. "This is your chance to escape and have a normal life. I don't know how possessive I'll become if you stayed. I've never… felt this way before John. This could quickly turn into another nightmare for you".

John placed his tea on the night table next to the bed with the rest of his food and scooted closer to Sherlock, wrapping his arm around him this time. "Sherlock.. I… I don't care if you become a nightmare, you already are one and I love you for it. The messes, the temper tantrums, the holes in our apartment, I.. I loved you back then when I thought it was pointless, why in the world would I give up now. I love you Sherlock, all of you, even if it will take a bit of getting used to the blood sucking part."

Sherlock looked up stunned, his face quickly darkening, "You're not afraid at all?"

"I didn't really have the time to be shocked now did I?" John retorted. "Look Sherlock, I'm not saying I'm not scared, but I'm willing to give it a try if you are. I want to be with you." John paused. "Aaaass long as you don't make me into a thrall or something, the look on Moriarty's face scared me more than anything else"

Sherlock continued staring at John, seeming like he was battling inwardly for a decision, before smiling, "No John, I would never do that to you. If I don't send you off screaming first, I have something much more prestigious in mind."

John smiled back, pulling Sherlock down onto the bed with him. "Now now now John, you're still recovering" he said while letting himself be pulled down.

"Mmmm my fever's already broken, the wound is all patched up thanks to you and I already have been regaining blood all night, and now I have food in my system, so Sherlock could we kindly fuck?" John spluttered out.

Sherlock laughed, "Well, if you're so insistent, I don't see why not"

"Just… little bites ok Sherlock? And only if you 'blood lust' gets to painful. I want this to be good, for both of us.." John murmured out.

Sherlock hadn't been planning on doing that bit for a while, but the fact that John was so accepting of it just did things to his lower regions. He groaned aloud reaching down to touch the man beneath him.

A/E : ENTER VALID EXCUSE FOR NOT WRITING FOR A LONG TIME HERE:

The reason John starts out sick in this chapter is because I felt that even though Sherlock healed him, his body need recovery time. It couldn't be "vampire saliva cures all!" ya know.

To everyone asking for another chapter, here it is! sorry for the wait :)

*Hits head against desk for spelling straight wrong*

porn's in the next chapter, who knows how long that'll be with my update record


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